


Smalltown Boy

by hader_ade



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Langauage, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Assault, Bowers Didn’t Get Institutionalized, Bullying, Canon Divergent, Emetophobia, F Slur is Used, Gay Richie Tozier, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I just want to hug my boy, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Richie is so scared, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, bowers is a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22030921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hader_ade/pseuds/hader_ade
Summary: The realization felt a lot like seasickness and a little like getting hit by a truck; too much and too sudden with the dawning that this could very well kill him. In small towns like Derry, realizations like this one end with your body floating down the Kenduskeag or thrown on the steps of the Derry General Hospital without any regard. That’s how life was here, that’s how it had always been and Richie Tozier did not want to die.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Maggie Tozier & Richie Tozier, Maggie Tozier & Richie Tozier & Wentworth Tozier, Maggie Tozier/Wentworth Tozier, Richie Tozier & Wentworth Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Smalltown Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Call-Me-Bread](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Call-Me-Bread).



> This is so incredibly late which is dumb because it's been in my google drive for over a month but I think you all know by now that I suck HARD.
> 
> Anyway, this is gifted to call-me-bread on tumblr for the itfandomprompts Secret Santa! This was such a challenge to write because I'm SO bad at angst but I tried it for you babes! I am strongly considering adding more to it because I storyboarded it as a multi-chapter thing. If y'all want more I shall provide, in time. Enjoy it Bread <3
> 
> The title is based off the song by Bronski Beat

The realization felt a lot like seasickness and a little like getting hit by a truck; too much and too sudden with the dawning that this could very well kill him. In small towns like Derry, realizations like this one end with your body floating down the Kenduskeag or thrown on the steps of the Derry General Hospital without any regard. That’s how life was here, that’s how it had always been and Richie Tozier did not want to die. 

He supposed that he had always felt an attraction to men, brushing it off simply as craving attention and the need to get a good laugh out of his friends; but it was more than that. He liked the way he could rile Bill up so bad that his stutter just faded away and left a truly wonderful voice. Something on the fence between honey and gravel. He liked the way that Stan could sit for hours in silence punctuated with rolled eyes and heavy sighs, only to throw a quip back at him at lightning speed. He loved the sound of Eddie’s laugh, more like the twinkle of Christmas bells compared to Richie’s guffaw. He liked the ease the four of them had, never too worried about misplaced limbs or innuendos with hints of truth buried deep inside of them. He never worried until now. They say that the heat of the Sun is somewhere near 6,000 Kelvin, but the shame that threatened to melt his insides burned at twice that. Something like this would change everything and that fear paralyzed him.

It wasn’t like Richie didn’t already know he liked men, he just had an understanding that it wasn’t an option for him here and so those feelings were quelled. That is until one Friday evening, in the summer before the start of their senior year, a huddled mass of whispers and giggles in the Tozier’s basement. Since the summer of 1989, the summer of It, they had sworn to the mystical turtle in the sky that Fridays’ would be “Losers’ Night”. The houses rotated but the people never did. Without fail, every Friday every summer, for the past four years all seven of them met up- relishing in each other’s presence, an understanding that life wouldn't always be like this, so they should celebrate it now. This particular night was one that would change Richie. 

“C’mon Haystack, tell us about her!” Richie crooned over a warm beer. Mike’s cousin, Deb, had been kind enough to grab the teenagers a case for tonight and the seven of them were happy to sip idly and talk about nothing and everything. 

“It really wasn’t much of anything,” Ben mumbled, sneaking a glance over at Beverly, “we designed a multi-use space and the judges thought that our design had the best flow. She was nice.” Ben, ever the charmer, had spent the last week in architecture camp and Richie was itching for the nasty details of hot, nerdy girls getting it on with dorks like their dear Ben. Only, he wasn’t- he didn’t really care much for the images or ideas, but if it convinced the others that he was just like them then he’d hear it all. 

“R-Richie, leave him alone. I hope you had f-f-fun, Ben. Now can we g-get drunk?” Bill raised his glass for a toast and the soft clinks of glass against aluminum filled the basement. The quiet buzz of chatter swirled in Richie’s head, he was pleasantly tipsy. Eddie was curled against his side, ever the lightweight, yammering in his miles a minute way about the dangers of something or another. Richie wasn’t paying much attention, more enraptured by the way the smaller boy hummed with life against him as he gesticulated in Mike’s general direction. 

“Let’s play a game!” Beverly offered. The only downside to knowing your friends for most of your life is that drinking games were less fun- you all knew too much about one another at some point for the games to be entertaining. They all agreed regardless and slipped into a comfortable circle around the coffee table. 

“What are you thinking, Bev?” Mike asked, voice only slightly warbled from the booze.

“Truth or Dare! Never Have I Ever is no fun when you’ve been through it all live-time, you know? Who wants to go first?” Richie couldn’t bring himself to meet her wandering gaze- he had always hated this game. He never fully understood why but was gripped with the panic that someone might ask him the wrong question and the illusion would slip away. 

Stan spoke up first, “I’ll go. I pick truth.” 

Hushed murmurs between Bill and Beverly sent her into a fit of giggles before she cleared her throat, “Okay Stanny-Boy, why haven’t you made a move on the girl in pre-calc yet?” Everyone’s interest was piqued at that; Stanley had been spending an awful lot of time with some girl (Penny? Patty? It didn’t really matter) ever since she had lent him a book on blue jays that spring. 

Ever composed, even after a few beers, Stanley let them know that in fact, they had a date the very next day. This was met with squeals and a firm pat on the back from Mike. Stanley brushed it all off coolly, zeroing in on Eddie as his next target. Eddie who had too much to drink, Eddie who was filled to the brim with liquid courage, called out “dare” with such confidence that even Stan was a little shocked.

“Alright then, I dare you to kiss anyone in the room of your choosing.” Beverly clapping a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. Surely Eddie would back out of it, everyone knew how he was with germs. Even if the chicken was to streak down the street, Stan and everyone else knew he would take it. That’s why it came as a surprise when Eddie took a last swig of his drink and accepted.

“I’ll do it, but everyone has to close their eyes and  _ then _ I’ll pick!” He seemed a little cocky when he said this, but Richie still couldn’t process what he was hearing. A loud clap from Mike snapped Richie back into the moment, “Well you heard the man, close your eyes.”

A pregnant hush fell over the group, light snickers floating through the air as Eddie drunkenly traipsed around them like an adult game of Duck-Duck-Goose. Richie knew for certain that Eddie would pick Beverly but his hands grew sweat-slick with anticipation. 

“Are we done yet?” Stan called out, already bored and ready to move to the next round. Richie had lost Eddie, unable to sense where he was in the room until a light fanning of breath hit his face- warm with beer but smelling oh so sweet. 

“Almost.”

Eddie’s lips brushed against Richie’s and every hair stood on end. Richie stopped himself from leaning in, afraid that Eddie might realize what was happening, what he felt and stop entirely. The slow, languid movement of lips was unpracticed and clumsy, but intoxicating. The room felt heavier on his skin as Eddie pulled away and quietly planted himself next to Richie, as before. As if he hadn’t just shattered Richie’s entire world.

“Done!” Eddie called out proudly. 

Richie was the first to open his eyes, willing himself not to look a the young man yet and instead caught Beverly’s eyes. He knew she could see the fear in his eyes and silently begged her not to reveal what she knew to have happened. 

“Well,” she said, feigning breathlessness, “that was certainly a fun round! Eddie, you need to pick the next person. I’m going to grab another drink, do you need one too, Richie?” He could have kissed her but instead followed her out of the main area to the small fridge near the stairs. She held out a can for him to take; reaching out to grab it, he was drawn to the long scar on his palm. They had all promised to come back if It ever came back, but the promise was more of an assurance.  _ We’ll always be friends, nothing can take that away from us.  _

“Smoke?” Richie nodded dumbly, condensation dripping from his hand, and followed her up the stairs and out into the night. It was bordering on too warm, the air sticky with humidity; a truly odd phenomenon for Derry, but then again, tonight hadn’t been a normal night. He could hear the faint clicking of the lighter next to him, but it felt a million miles away. Smoke wafted into his face, Beverly gestured the lit cigarette near him. He took it with a slight nod, inhaling and accepting the light burn of his lungs. His tongue felt fuzzy in his mouth from the drinks and nicotine, but his lips stung with the memory of Eddie. Tears sprung to his eyes- he didn’t know how to hide it anymore and Beverly was probably the only Loser he could truly be himself around. He allowed her to wrap her arms around his chest as the sobs shook his lanky frame. They sat in silence, Beverly rubbing mindless circles on his back. She always knew what to say and when to say nothing, tonight was no different. The heat grew between his fingers, lightly burning the skin there; they had been on the porch longer than he thought, the cigarette had burned down to the filter. Beverly took it from him, smothering it beneath her shoe and turned to look at him for the first time since they had stepped out.

“It’ll be okay Rich,” her warm hand cupped his face and he leaned into the touch. Her face was that of a child still, but her eyes were far more knowing, too experienced with the violence and sadness that filled the world, her world. Richie managed a small smile, not trusting his voice to tell her “thank you”; he hoped his face conveyed it well enough. She left a light smack on his cheek, urging the boisterous boy back into Richie. 

The scene in the basement wasn’t much different than when they had left, but the group was noticeably more sleepy. It was nearing 2:00 am by this point, their sleeping bags all pushed close together. Succumbing to the drinks seemed like the best course of action; Richie groaned when he realized that his pallet was laid between Eddie and Beverly’s. She gave him a knowing look, something that said: “I’ll switch if you’d prefer.” He shook his head and shoved himself in between the two, willing himself to sleep. 

Richie turned away from the boy next to him, instead fixating his eyes on the popcorn ceiling above them, but he could feel his eyes boring holes into him; he knew he couldn’t turn around. He couldn’t look Eddie in the face because then he’d know, he’d know for sure.  _ The kiss meant nothing to Eddie, just a drunken dare  _ he told himself. But it meant everything to Richie. He shut his eyes tight, he needed to push that fear out of him.

In the darkness of that night, enveloped by the warmth of his friends’ bodies, comforted by the steady breathing of the Losers, Eddie reached out and took his hand. That small action was enough and Richie let a small tear roll across his cheek.

-

Richie hadn’t been able to will himself to sleep that night, despite the booze, and wiggled himself out of his sleeping bag sometime before 7:00. He tip-toed carefully around his sleeping friends, taking the steps two at a time up to the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee tickled his nose and he gave his mother a small kiss on the cheek as he poured himself a mug. His eyes scanned the room, absorbing the atmosphere- Went sat at the breakfast table, eyes scanning the morning paper while Maggie busied herself with the scrambled eggs on the stovetop. Richie smiled a little to himself- he loved them so deeply and he never wanted to hurt them, but lying to them seemed to be a punishment. He ruminated over his mug, letting the steam cloud his glasses. _ It’s probably best I don’t see their faces anyway _ , he thought.

He cleared his throat quietly, but his voice came out as a croak regardless, “I need to talk to you guys.” Richie could feel their eyes on him, urging him on, but he focused on the cup in his hands.

“What’s on your mind, son?” Went’s voice was soft with concern, but Richie couldn’t hear over the loud thumping in his ears, shame rose in his throat constricting his breath. Tears pricked behind his eyes and he swore quietly, praying that they didn’t spill over. There was a sharp click from his right as Maggie turned the burner off and wrapped her arms around him. The growth spurt the summer prior left Richie towering over his mother, her small frame meeting him at chest level. He could feel her fingers ghosting across his back, tracing mindless patterns like she had when he was little- murmuring words of affirmation and the tears slid down his cheeks. Richie thought back to the boy downstairs and the innocent brush of lips and the sobs came. The mug of coffee was pulled from his hands and Richie could feel the embrace of his father wrapped around him and his mother, Went grabbed him by his neck and brought their foreheads together. The kitchen was quiet, save the sniffles that escaped from Richie, and some hope built a space in his heart. 

“I’m gay,” it came out as a shudder but was still distinguishable and received by his parents. Nothing was said for a few minutes, but no one stepped away, they didn’t recoil, he couldn’t sense any disgust from either of them. It was just silence. 

His mother spoke up first, cheek pressed to his chest, her hold tightened, “Okay, baby.”

Went stroked his hair mindlessly, searching for the words that his son so desperately needed. “We love you, Richard. We’ll always love you.”

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the proverbial dam broke, and Richie felt so light. A shuffle from the basement doorway shook him from the moment, his eyes met Beverly’s and her smile blinded him. “I’m so proud of you, Rich.” He could feel his mother nodding against him and he stretched his hands out past his parents, willing Beverly to join them. For a moment, it was perfect, he felt like he could be honest, be himself, be whole. For once in his life, Richie Tozier could genuinely say he felt happy. No more smoke, no more mirrors. Richie Tozier was out. 

-

The calm after the storm lasted only for two days. It took two days for another, bigger storm to breach Richie’s horizon. It took two days for Richie’s life to be upended.

It was a warm, Sunday morning- one that was supposed to be spent at the Quarry, soaking up the summer rays, and basking in the cool water. Richie knew, in his heart of hearts, that he wouldn’t be able to let go and enjoy it. He realized that even innocent moments like these were stained red with shame. Shame that his gaze would linger, that his hands might wander, that somehow someone would truly see him. So he simply didn’t go, despite Beverly’s urging and the almost-sad look Eddie gave him- Richie resolved that some time alone might do him good.

He spent most of the morning driving aimless circles around the Derry city limits, never daring to go a step out of bounds; he was a little fearful of what lies beyond but more fearful that he may never want to come back. It wasn’t until about noon that the grumbling in his stomach pulled him out of his thoughts and off of the dirt roads back the Derry proper. He parked in the small lot behind Dreamers Diner, his old truck lurching into an open spot, and set out for something quick that he could take back to the comfort of his cab. The older woman behind the counter took his order to go and busied herself with other customers while he stared blankly at the steady drip of the coffee machine across from him.

_ Drip _ . 

You didn’t tell me your town was full of little fairies.

_ Drip _ .

Richie Tozier sucks flamer cock.

_ Drip _ .

Get the fuck out of here faggot.

_ Drip _ .

Dirty little secret.

_ Drip _ .

Don’t fucking touch me.

_ Drip _ .

Richie lurched out of his seat, throat burning with the bile that rose in his throat. He managed to throw himself into the single-stall before losing his breakfast- hot tears prickled in his eyes and he couldn’t stop himself for sobbing into the bowl. In between rounds of vomit, he mourned the safety of denial and willed himself to be normal; to be like all of the other guys in this town; Richie willed himself to be anyone other than who he was. 

Commiserating loudly to himself in hiccuped sobs and sloshing toilet water, Richie missed the sound of the stall door opening. The sharp pain of his hair being pulled back, neck bent almost unnaturally, brought him face to face with Bowers. The stale smell of sweat and cigarettes wafted off of him, but it was his eyes- pupils blown in anger- that made Richie’s stomach turn. He gasped in pain, scratching at Henry’s hand that was still wrapped in his hair, yanking him back even farther. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here, faggot? Can’t help getting on your knees in a bathroom like the dirty fucker you are?”

“Let me go! Just fuck off Bowers!” Richie wanted to sound strong, but in truth, he was terrified. He wanted to fight, to weasel his way out of this situation, but there was no way out of this one. Henry blocked the only exit and Richie was trapped on his heels under his strong grip. Best case scenario, he left with a black eye or two; worst case, he hoped his mother would let Beverly dress him for his funeral. He could see the headline of tomorrow’s paper in his mind: “Loser Richard Tozier, closeted faggot, left for dead in local diner”.

“Shut the fuck up Tozier! Better yet, I’ll make you.” 

His shout for help was cut off, his face shoved against the porcelain pipes; his mouth filled with his own sick and stale toilet water. Richie gasped as Henry pulled his head out of the toilet, only managing half a lung-full before being submerged again, choking down the water. His chest burned as it filled with the gross mixture around him, his cheeks aching where his glasses pushed against them. Richie should be putting up a fight, but the energy left him. Henry held him under for longer this time, black spots danced across his vision, and he could feel his limbs going slack underneath him, allowing him to slip further into the water.

**Author's Note:**

> Life is kicking my ass royally guys but I have made some HUGE life changes recently and I'm hoping that come the new year I will have my shit sorted and be able to write for you and for myself more frequently and better. If anyone has any questions or wants to talk please reach out to me here, on my tumblr @hader-hoe, or on discord @hader_ade#8979
> 
> I love you all desperately


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